Dignity
by SionnachOghma
Summary: Seeing the emotional toll that a dying patient and her young daughter have on Cameron, House does some digging, and discovers that her husband wasn't the first major loss in Cameron's life. Set after S2 episode "Autopsy".
1. Chapter One

_"When a good person dies, there should be an impact on the world. Somebody should notice. Somebody should be upset."_

* * *

_**  
**__**1988 **_

Blinky or Muffin? Muffin or Blinky?

She had been mulling over this choice for the past ten minutes or so, when she had realized that, try as she might, there was no way that they were both going to fit into her backpack – at least not if she wanted to bring her colouring book, markers and Walkman with her too.

Her mom had packed her clothes already but had left what was turning out to be the far more daunting task of choosing which toys she would be bringing with her in her hands.

From his seat on her pillow, Muffin stared up at her with black, glassy eyes, full of sadness at the prospect of being left behind. She picked him up, hugging him briefly, straightening the bow around his neck and smoothing his fur before stowing him in her backpack and zipping it shut, leaving Muffin's head poking out so he could see, then hesitated.

She was going to be at Daddy's all summer and Blinky had never been away from her for more than a day, not since Grandma had brought it to the hospital the day she was born.

Despite Jason's teasing that nine was way too old to still bring a stuffed animal with her almost everywhere she went, she couldn't bear to part with him, not yet.

Mom liked to joke that they were going to have to sew Blinky into her wedding dress.

Grabbing Blinky in one hand, she hurried down the stairs, hoping that there was still some room in her big suitcase for him.

"…solutely not!" Mom was yelling at somebody over the phone, "I will not put them through that. Ally's too young and I'm not going to drag Jason back from college when there's nothing he can do!"

Although she knew that it wasn't polite to eavesdrop, or to interrupt somebody when they were on the phone, Ally tugged on her mom's hand.

"I've got to go." Mom's smile was wide, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "All packed, sweetheart?"

"Almost, but Blinky won't fit in my bag." She held him out. "Will he fit in the case?"

"I'm sure we can find room for him." Mom promised, folding Blinky into a neat square before glancing down at her. "Everything okay?"

Ally nodded. "Uh-huh. Mom," She hesitated before continuing, not wanting to get into trouble for eavesdropping but concerned about what she had overheard. "I really am old enough to go on a plane by myself, I'm not _little_." She spoke the last word as though it was the vilest of oaths.

Mom smiled faintly. "You'll always be my little girl, no matter how old you are."

"But I'm still big enough to go on a plane and Daddy will meet me at the airport," Ally persisted, "you don't need to get Jason to bring me." She had a pretty good idea what kind of mockery she could expect if her older brother had to be called in to babysit her for a plane ride and no wish to experience it.

Mom paused a moment before speaking. "Yes, of course. You're right, Ally, I'm sure you'll be fine by yourself, I'm just being silly." She pulled her into a tight hug, kissing the top of her head. "I'm going to miss you."

* * *

_**2005**_

"Thirty-four-year-old female diagnosed with non-Hodgkin lymphoma two months ago," House said by way of greeting as he entered the room, with Wilson following, "told she had a year to get her affairs in order. Rushed in today, her condition rapidly worsening. Turns out she _also_ has breast cancer." He tossed a copy of the file on the table.

"For the record," Wilson cut in during House's brief pause for breath, "she was actually told she had a good chance of making a full recovery within the year. It was an early catch. Also, she was in here for radiation treatment last week, and felt fine. We ran all the standard tests while she was here. There was no second cancer. Today, it looks like it's been there for months. Given how quickly this has cropped up, it was thought all around that it'll have to go right away. A mastectomy's been scheduled for tomorrow."

"Any other symptoms?" Chase queried.

"Malar rash, and she's complaining that her hand is cramping up."

A few surprised looks were exchanged between House's team. "You've already seen the patient? She must be pretty hot," Foreman suggested.

"I was looking for him." House nodded toward Wilson.

Cameron flicked through the file, pausing on a page from a lab report. "Protein in her urine. With the rash and arthritis, that's lupus."

House squinted at her and cocked his head slightly, as if looking at a puzzle and hoping a different angle would make it easier to solve. "What odds are we giving on lupus these days?"

"There's a pool?" Wilson arched an eyebrow.

"Well, if not, there should be."

"Lupus fits," Chase agreed. "A ruined immune system would certainly explain how she's suddenly a cancer-farm."

"You're supposed to be kissing _my_ ass," House scolded. "You can't just latch onto hers because it's prettier. The ass-kissing clause in your contract is very specific."

He turned to Foreman, who simply shrugged. "_Maybe_ not lupus specifically, but definitely autoimmune, and the symptoms do suggest…"

"Oh, come on!" House screeched, furious at this sudden mutiny. Of course, it was nothing new for them to be against him, but they were usually against each other, too, which could be a lot of fun. "When is it _ever_ lupus?"

"Any patient that wants to get into a clinical trial for lupus needs four from a list of eleven symptoms," Cameron lectured, clearly enjoying the moment. "I see three, and if you really want to make a bet, the fourth is there, and so is the diagnosis."

House could practically feel Wilson smirking behind his back. "Tell you what," he announced, "how 'bout these odds?" He plucked a crumpled fifty dollar bill from his back pocket and dropped it on the table. "If I win, and it's anything but lupus, anything _including_ another autoimmune disease, you each owe me fifty bucks, and you divvy up my clinic hours for the next two months between you. If it _is_ lupus, you guys will have ten grand to split between you!

"I'll take those delighted grins as agreement. Now go."

* * *

_**Three Hours Later**_

House sat on the counter smugly pouring himself some coffee while Chase, Foreman and Cameron sat at the table, all looking thoroughly annoyed.

"You know what?" House asked cheerfully. "I think lupus needs a song. 'The Lupus Song', or some variation of that Irish one. The 'No, Nay, Never' thing."

The door swung open, and in walked Wilson. "Got the results from the ANA and AENA."

"Ah, the deaths knell!" House hopped down from the counter, suddenly realised he'd left his cane behind, and quickly plucked the file from Wilsons hand before falling against the table to catch himself. "And the winner is…" He paused, stunned and gaping at the lab results.

Snapping the file shut and slamming it down on the table, he limped back to the counter, pulled himself up onto it, then yelped and leapt to his good foot again as his mug full of steaming hot coffee spilled all over his leg. Slowly he raised his eyes towards the group at the table, and instantly wanted to wipe the grins off their faces with something sharp.

"Pay up, sucker," a delighted Cameron demanded, while Chase and Foreman just laughed themselves silly at the look on his face.

"Ho, ho, ho…"

"House Smash Puny Underlings?" Wilson quipped.

"Fair enough. A bet's a bet," he conceded grumpily. "You'll get your money tomorrow. In the meantime…Cameron. Go tell mommy she's screwed. Lupus plus cancer-times-two, I give her a month at the very most."

"'Mommy'?" Cameron wondered aloud.

"The daughter's with her. Ten, I think. You be sure to join in the waterworks on behalf of all of us."

A strange expression passed briefly over Cameron's face, but she left without a word. Wilson followed.

"I'm sure the rest of you can find _something_ useful to do," House hissed nastily at Foreman and Chase as he switched on his portable TV and went into his office.

* * *

"Then there's nothing _anyone_ can do?"

In her current condition, Rachel Hudson looked far older than thirty-one. Her ten-year-old daughter, Rebecca, sat beside her on the bed, shaking silently as the tears rolled down her cheeks.

Cameron struggled with the words. "At this point, pain management is about the only help we can offer. We'll do everything we can to make sure you're comfortable. But with the lupus, no amount of chemo, radiation therapy or anything else can help. You're immune system is just too heavily compromised." She looked nervously at Rebecca, but with a nod from her mother, continued. "It may take a couple of weeks. A month at the outside, but I've never seen _any _cancer advance so quickly. For all we know, it could attack your heart tomorrow."

Rachel took a moment to absorb the blow. She wrapped an arm around her daughter, holding her close. "Could you give us some time alone, please?"

Wilson was standing at the admit desk, going over the file of another patient. "How'd they take it?" he asked when Cameron emerged from the room.

"How does anyone?"

"You okay?"

Instead of answering, Cameron asked "Have you met the kid before?"

"Rebecca? Yeah. She's been here every time her Rachel came in for treatment. Refuses to go to school while her mom's here. Once she was forced to go. Actually made it all the way there. Then she climbed out a window and walked here."

"Pretty brave kid."

"I don't know if this is good for her, though. It's one thing not to want to be kept in the dark and force-fed some fairy-tale, but she doesn't need to see all of this. It's too much."

"It's her choice," Cameron said forcefully. "She's old enough to decide what she can handle."

"Again," Wilson asked, slightly taken aback by her tone, "are you okay?"

"Do you have time for lunch? Some place away from here?"

"You mean away from House?"

"That, too."

* * *

**TBC. Please review.**


	2. Chapter Two

_**1988**_

Ally sat in one of the big black swivel chairs in her father's office, swinging slightly left, then right, reading 'Tales From Shakespeare' while her father pored over legal documents. He hadn't been working here long; he had moved to Boston to take the job a while after the divorce. His bosses had let him reduce his hours while she was visiting so he could spend more time with her – Ally thought that was very nice of them; they must have been much nicer than the people he had worked for in Chicago.

One of the things her parents had fought most about was how late her daddy had stayed in his office.

Most of the days he was working, Daddy's neighbour Mrs Flint watched her – her position as Ally's favourite babysitter ever had been secured after their first chocolate brownies and cartoons marathon. Mrs Flint was busy today, though, so she had come to the office with Daddy, but he had promised that they would be out of there as soon as possible and that afterwards, he was going to take her on a trip to the carnival.

Over the past weeks, they'd been all over Boston. She had liked the Freedom Trail best, but the 'Cheers' bar had been fun too. The big-screen TV played episodes of the show all day, and her dad had even tried teaching her to play darts. It hadn't been a very successful lesson, but the man who'd been sitting a little too close to the dartboard had been very nice about the whole thing; even while he'd used an antiseptic wipe on his hand and applied the bandage. She couldn't wait to tell her mom about it.

Her daddy's office was huge, with a great view, and its walls were lined with bookshelves and what seemed like thousands of books. She had tried reading one of them but it was very boring. Jason was crazy to want to go to law school, even if it was practically a Cameron family tradition.

A tradition she'd be skipping; there was way too much to learn and, while she liked school, she didn't like it enough to want to spend another seven or eight years studying after she graduated from high school – especially if it meant that she would have to read hundreds of boring books.

Besides, who would want to hire a lawyer called Ally?

Her daddy seemed to read her thoughts. "Whatever you do, sweetheart, do not be a lawyer when you grow up," he cautioned, his slight smile contradicting his solemn tone, "this job will drive you…"

As if on cue, the door opened, and a grey-haired man in a shiny black suit walked in. His tie was green and red with a snowman on it. It was July. "Denny Crane!" He said his name as if it were an announcement of great importance, then, taking a chair on the opposite side of the desk, proclaimed, "Lock and load!"

"Hi, Denny. You know we're in court tomorrow on the Dobson case, right?"

"Yeah," the older man replied, a strained look on his face as he tried to recall the details before eventually giving up. "What's that one about?"

Ally's father thought that was a joke, but quickly realised he was mistaken. "Denny," he breathed in dismay, "we've been prepping for this case since the day I got here."

"_You've_ been prepping for this case since the day you got here, Adam. I've been fishing. And occasionally doing some very bad things with Shirley in her office – she feels a little uncomfortable in mine. No lock."

"Who would have thought she was so bashful?"

"Typical pinko Liberal hypocrisy," Denny grumped disdainfully. "No matter how far behind us the sixties are, most of them still talk about all that hippy crap, Free Love and so forth, but it when it comes to getting it on in a public place…"

"Denny, I don't think you've met my daughter, Ally." Her daddy cut in hastily, looking even more uncomfortable than he had when her mom had caught him swearing in front of her. "My _nine-year-old_ daughter."

"Oh, hi there!" Denny grinned, before throwing in a slightly bashful shrug for her father. "Sorry… So, what's tomorrow all about?"

" Right, well the case started out as a pretty simple one. Two guys started making a comic book together back in high school, one had to split when it came time for college. The other guy – our client – kept writing and drawing it himself, and then decided to pitch it to Marvel.

"They liked the comic, liked him, so they bought the rights and gave him a job. The guy who split saw an issue on the shelf and contacted his friend, demanding fifty percent of everything he's made off of the book. The client told him he wasn't entitled to half, but was willing to work a fair share, as he'd done inking and had helped a little with the writing and editing. Our guy was creator, chief writer and artist, and pencilled it too.

"Now the disgruntled former friend is suing not just his former collaborator, but Marvel Comics too, claiming they bought what was stolen from him and have been making a profit from it. He says _he_ was the sole creator and chief writer. We're representing both parties being sued, and Marvel can't afford to lose this case. Not even close. The comics industry is circling the drain, and if one of the biggest publishers loses a lot of money and goes out of business, it goes right into the sewer system. Every geek in the country will riot."

"Can we prove that our guy came up with the comic, and that he was responsible for most of the writing?" Denny queried.

"Maybe. We've got his old notes and concept drawings, but nothing really solid. And for all we know, his friend will probably all of a sudden say that he has the same kind of stuff."

"Dismiss the whole damn case," Denny told him. "Guy has no cause to sue the publisher. If he's insisting on going after them, he has to prove they knew about his part in creating the book. How's he gonna do that? Think they passed around a memo? 'We light-fingered this, don't tell anyone'? Tell the judge this is just an angry nerd who saw a potential cash cow and went after it. They'll be severed and can go back to trying to keep their jobs alive. After that, we just have the two former buddies to deal with."

Adam shook his head. "Tried that. Judge figured they should have to prove that they didn't know it was stolen. If it actually _was_ stolen. At this point, Marvel may not even be able to afford the cost of this trial."

"What judge?"

"Brown."

"Little-Boy-Brown." Shaking his head, Denny told him, "We couldn't have gotten a worse judge for this case. We bring him a lawsuit about a comic book, he'll go home screaming to his mother about the bunch of nansy-pansies he has to deal with at work. Next day she'll be in there to spank us all. Still lives with her, you know. The man's fifty years old!"

"So what do we do? It's a stalemate, but if the other guys' lawyer manages drag it out, we'll have two very angry clients."

Ally looked up from her book. "You should ask the judge to give both guys two weeks," she told them, "and each of them can go write a story for the comic. Whoever writes the best one, that's the guy who knows the characters best, so he's the one who came up with it."

Her father smiled at her. "I don't know about that, honey. It's not a bad idea, but as a method of settling a lawsuit, it might seem sort of ridiculous. I'm pretty sure the judge would laugh at us for that."

"No he won't," Denny mused. "Never laughs. No sense of humour at all. What he _might_ do," he added with a cheeky grin, "if we pitch that idea plus a few others, as ridiculous as we can come up with, is throw the whole case out just to be rid of us."

"You're serious?" Adam asked disbelievingly. "You want to try that?"

"We don't have much else. Like you said, this could well be a stalemate, and I hate stalemates. 'If you can't win, carry a silencer and a good story'; one of many Crane family mantras I find useful from time to time. I don't think Brown's in court today. I'll go talk to him."

Before Ally's father could say anything, the phone rang. The other lawyer mouthed a silent "Denny Crane" and made for the door, before turning to Ally. "You should consider being a lawyer when you're older. I think you'd be good at it. It'll make you crazy, but it's crazy fun." After he closed the door behind him, Ally heard him speaking to nobody in particular and everyone who cared as he walked down the corridor. "Denny Crane. On my way to harass a judge, and get spanked for it. Denny Crane."

Her father was already done on the phone, croaking a strained "Thank you" and hanging up.

"Why is he always saying his name like that?" Ally asked once the phone was down.

Instead of answering her question, her father gently took the book she was reading and placed it down on the desk. Ally was about to ask if it was time to go when she saw the look on his face, as if he was about to cry. "Honey, I need to tell you something."

* * *

_**2005**_

As he entered the room, House tossed the envelope directly at Chase, who quickly moved aside to avoid being hit in the head, just catching it with the tips of his fingers. House limped over to the coffee machine and poured himself a large mug.

"And what do we have?"

Foreman waited until Chase had handed him a wad of bills, flicked through them quickly to check the amount, then pocketed them with a grin and turned to a small stack of file folders. "Forty-three-year-old male, petechiae and high fever..."

"Both associated with any number of _slightly_ uncommon ailments, few of which could keep me awake past lunch," House remarked, chasing two pills with a mouthful of coffee. "Next!"

Foreman sighed and moved on to the next file. "Forty-_six_-year-old male, high-grade fever and upper-right quadrant tenderness..."

"Complicated cholecystitis. Moron probably ignored it till it got too bad, hence the higher-than-usual fever. Bore me some more, would you?"

Rolling his eyes, Foreman tossed the second file aside, and was about to open up the third, when he put it down and turned to his boss. "Aren't you supposed to be in the clinic this morning?" he asked with a smirk.

"Where's Cameron?" House asked, pretending not to hear him.

* * *

She nearly ran into him as she exited Rachel's room. "Transferring to Oncology?" House queried conversationally.

"Just making myself useful. I saw the cases Foreman dug up, knew you wouldn't be interested and would have to go to the clinic, so I came here."

"What is it with you and cancer? You just like watching it in action?"

"Bite me."

"No, wait. Let me guess; it's the kid. You were the same with Andie; though granted, you were all a little weird with that one, what with Chase and the shenanigans."

Cameron ignored him, glanced over his shoulder and said, "Hi, Doctor Cuddy."

House turned to find nobody behind him, and when he turned back, Cameron was gone.

"Let it go." Wilson seemed to materialise out of nowhere, clearly annoyed.

"Let what go?" House asked, fumbling in his pockets as he made his way down the corridor.

"Just go to the clinic, get high, harass some patients and forget about it."

"Sounds like fun! Give me a reason." He stopped at the dispensary and slapped the pill bottle down on the counter.

"The usual, sir?" the pharmacist queried sarcastically.

"Unless you got something stronger with the same yummy taste."

"Are you listening to what I'm saying?" Wilson demanded.

"Trying not to, but you keep talking."

"I'll shut up and go away just as soon as you promise to…" he considered for a moment, then said, "to not be 'you', just this once."

"How about you go away now, and then I'll _consider_ taking a little vacation from my me-ness," House suggested.

"House…"

"Going once, going twice, get out of here."

Wilson sighed and stormed off, and House turned back to the counter just in time to catch the pill bottle as it hit him in the chest. "Well, no tip for _you_ today!" he exclaimed, pocketing the Vicodin and limping off.

When he arrived in the records department, he was met by a bored-looking girl with square-rimmed glasses who apparently never saw much sunlight, though clearly she wasn't completely dead to the world, as she straightened up when House appeared in front of her, swallowing audibly. "Dr. House?" she squeaked. House felt a tinge of warmth at the thought that his fearsome reputation was such that even those who never left their black holes knew him on sight.

"The one and only," he responded. Scanning the room quickly, he was pleased to find that the very junior clerk sitting in front of him was the only one around. "I need to pull an employee file," he told her. "Dr. Allison Cameron."

"Um, just a second," said the girl nervously. She typed in the name on her computer, a confused look appearing on her face when the results came up. "According to this, you hired Dr. Cameron personally. Don't you already have her record on file?"

"Most of it. I need to check something in her family medical history; that, I don't have on file."

"Oh," said the girl hesitantly. "Well, those are confidential."

"Confidential?" House repeated, apparently quite stunned. "Since _when_?"

"Um… always, I think."

"Well, that can't be right!" he insisted. "How long have you worked here?"

The clerk straightened again, craning her neck and pushing her glasses up in an attempt to look dignified. "Almost a year," she responded acidly, then quailed a little when House's eyebrows raised in amusement.

"Well, somebody screwed up. _Confidential_!" he scoffed. "Look how simple it is." Moving around the desk, he stood behind the girl and reached over her shoulder for the mouse, clicking on the tab for family medical history. "See?" he pointed out. "If it were really confidential, they wouldn't make it so easy to get in!"

"Y-yeah," stammered the clerk, "but I really don't think you're supposed to do that!"

"Never mind!" House waved off the complaint. He brought up the '_Print_' dialogue, selected '_All', _then grinned at the clerk. "That'll just about do it. Thanks for all your help!"

He swiped the pages from the printer at the edge of the desk, ignoring the girl and her continued objections, which had reduced to a barely audible whimper by the time he reached the door.

* * *

**Author's Note: Glad so many of you seem to be enjoying this one :) The final chapter will be posted next week. In the meantime, please review, and of course, thanks from myself and ReganX to all who've reviewed so far.**


	3. Chapter Three

_**2005**_

Both Rachel and Rebecca were asleep when she went in, the latter rubbing unconsciously at a pair of very red eyes. Moving as silently as she could, Cameron quickly checked the numbers on the monitors by the bed, and slowed down the morphine drip a little. When she eased the door open to leave, she found House standing outside the room again.

"What? You've actually forgotten where the clinic_ is_?"

As usual, House ignored any mention of the clinic. "Wanted to talk to you about your particular brand of insanity," he announced simply.

"I got over that, remember? I thought I had feelings for you, we went on one date, and I decided hating you was better for my mental health; a decision I haven't questioned the wisdom of since I met Stacy." She walked quickly away, House struggling to keep up.

"Panties still all bunched up, I see."

"You don't know the first thing about my panties."

"With that skirt, in this lighting?" House tilted his head. "Odd choice of colour for daywear." Cameron made a face, but House continued before she could respond. "Anyway; the cancer thing. It's all pretty twisted. Usually I like twisted, but in your case I think I'd recommend a more conventional kind of sadism."

"What the hell are talking about?" Cameron demanded, her impatience beginning to show in her colour.

"Sarah Allison Jennings Cameron, diagnosed with lymphoma January 22nd 1985; underwent several rounds of chemotherapy before going into remission," House recited from memory. Cameron stopped walking, and had gone completely pale. She stared at him, open-mouthed and shaking as he continued. "April 19th 1988, diagnosed once again with lymphoma, far more advanced than the first occurrence. Two rounds of chemotherapy unsuccessful. Foregoes further treatment; dies July 11th 1988."

Her shock evaporated, replaced by insane rage the moment he stopped talking. She stepped towards him, both fists clenched, only to be caught under the arm by Wilson, who had apparently been refining his method of appearing out of thin air.

"**What. Did. I. Tell. You?**" he hissed at House, putting himself between the two of them.

"Oh, come on, you know how I feel about puzzles!" House retorted, completely unabashed. "Did you _seriously_ expect me to walk away from this one?"

"So you steal my file and poke through my life so you can have a good laugh?!" Cameron roared. She stepped around Wilson, and shot him a glance full of venom when he tried to bar her way again.

"I wanted to know what your problem is," House told her simply. "Now I know. Mommy knew that the only thing further treatment would do was make the pain get worse and last longer, so she sent you away, hoping to spare you from seeing her waste away, and maybe maintain some semblance of dignity – for what _that's_ worth to the living dead. Message didn't go through quite like she planned, and little Ally's been taking revenge on dear ol' Mom at every opportunity. Certainly explains the dearly departed husband, but it make me wonder," he announced with great curiosity, "why you don't actually work in Oncology. Too much of a good thing, maybe?"

"Hey!" Wilson yelled. Only then realising that they seemed to have the total, undivided attention of the entire floor, he lowered his voice to an angry whisper. "You keep this up, I'll gladly join her in kicking her ass."

Still quaking with anger, Cameron's efforts to keep a reign on her tempter would have been clear from a mile off. "I really thought I'd already seen you at your worst," she gasped between rapid breaths as she tried and failed to calm herself. "I didn't think it was possible that even _you_ could be this heartless."

"_I'm heartless?_" House exclaimed incredulously as she began to hurry away. "_You married a cancer patient just so you could have the __**pleasure**__ of watching him die!"_

* * *

"OOOOOOOOOOOWWWWW!"

"Oh, give it a rest!" Wilson barked. "You're so wasted, I could knock this back into place with a sledgehammer and you wouldn't even feel it."

"I cam beleef she bwoke by noshe," House said with considerable effort.

"I can't believe that's all she did. Deep breath."

"Nob hunny – aaagghh!" His squealing didn't quite drown out the _crunch_ing sound as his nose was reset. Sniffing experimentally once it was done, he somehow managed to wince and glare at Wilson at the same time.

"You'll need to talk to someone from Ear, Nose and Throat, but I doubt there's a surgery in the offing," Wilson told him, thrusting a fist-full of cotton and an ice pack at him. Taking a seat across the glass table, he began to speak again, but was cut off when Foreman and Chase barged in, both grinning like Cheshire Cats.

"Is it true?" Foreman asked, apparently trying very hard to keep himself from skipping. "She laid him out with one punch?"

"Our little girl's growing up fast," Wilson told him. "I've never been so proud in my life."

Silently sulking, House rummaged in his pocket for his Vicodin, and groaned dramatically as the door opened again to admit Cuddy, who had the look of a woman who was about to start throwing bolts of lightning in every direction.

"What the Hell?!" she roared. "Cameron's sitting in the ambulance bay bawling her eyes out, and people are saying you stole her personnel file and accused her of murdering her mother!"

"Yes to the first, not quite to the second," Wilson corrected. House said nothing.

"Do I want to know?" she asked Wilson.

"Probably not."

"Do I need to have Stacy start prep for a lawsuit?"

"I don't think so, but you might want to give Cameron a few days off to cool down. Next time, she might not stop just because he crumples like paper."

"Hey!"

Cuddy silenced him again with a glare, then took a second to enjoy the fact that it actually _worked_. "You're assigned to the clinic, full-time, for the next two months."

"WHAT?!"

"Tell Cameron to take the rest of the week," she ordered Wilson, before turning to Chase and Foreman. "Until he's finished serving his time, you two and Cameron report to me."

House was totally flabbergasted. "Hold on a second!" he spluttered.

"I don't wanna hear it. You don't like it, you can always quit. Just bear in mind that you've been blacklisted by every other hospital on the planet. Plus: I know what you're spending habits are like, so I'm willing to bet you have _zero _savings. You pack this job in today, you'll be living on the street by this time tomorrow."

"I don't know," Chase interrupted. "He came up with the ten grand pretty quickly."

Apparently deciding she didn't want to know what he meant, Cuddy left without another word.

"Unbelievable!" House cried the moment she was gone. "Cameron beats up a cripple, and I'm the bad guy?!" He dabbed at his nose with the cotton, whining pitifully.

"You're _always_ the bad guy," Wilson announced darkly.

* * *

_**1988**_

"Jason." Adam ducked and weaved around the scattered guests to reach his son, wondering if it was normal to want to punch everyone who patted you on the arm and whispered condolences at a funeral. "Do you know where Ally is?"

Jason, like his little sister, was the image of his mother, with her blue eyes and dark brown hair. And, just like his mother, he had no qualms about letting people know when he was angry. "I think she went up to her room," he grunted, then added, "Probably got sick of hearing everybody telling her about how strong Mom was, how hard she fought, and all the other bullshit that's being slung around here."

"Watch your mouth. Your mother did fight. And she _was_ strong."

"Did everybody know except us?" His voice rising, he looked just about ready to deck his father as he asked. "Why didn't she tell us? Why didn't you?!"

"Because she knew there was no chance of pulling through this time," Adam almost shouted at him, "and lower your damn voice! She knew if you found out, you'd drop everything and come home, that you'd want to be with her like you were the first time, and she didn't want you to do that when there was nothing anybody could do to help her. She didn't want you being here just to watch her die, especially when you had your own concerns."

"My mother dying of cancer was less important than my end-of-year exams and a summer job?" Jason hissed. "What about Ally?"

"We never told Ally about it the first time because she was too young, and your mother didn't want her knowing this time for the same reason. She's nine years old, for God's sake, your mom didn't want her there when she… when the time came." His throat drying up, he took a sip of his drink. "It's just water," he retorted to the question Jason didn't ask.

"Whatever. I'm gonna go look for Ally."

"Jason. I wanted to tell you. Both of you deserved to know. But it was your mothers' choice. I had to respect that."

Jason made no reply as he stalked off to find his sister.

Ally's favourite hiding place hadn't changed since she was a toddler. Other little kids were afraid of monsters in their closet; she had used hers as a refuge from the evil goblin in the water pipes – their mom had been ready to throttle him when she found out that he told her that story. Unless her closet was specifically excluded as a potential hiding place, playing Hide and Seek with her was never in any way challenging.

He could hear her sniffling softly as he entered her room and when he knocked on the closet door, the only response was a stifled sob. She looked up at him when he opened the door, her eyes red and her face streaked with tear tracks, holding Muffin in a death grip but she didn't speak, accepting the tissue he handed her in silence.

"How are you holding up, kiddo?" She didn't answer. "Dumb question. I think that some people downstairs want to talk to you."

"I don't want to talk to them."

Jason smiled wryly. "Yeah, me neither." He gestured towards the closet. "Is there enough space in there for me too?" She nodded, scooting over to make room. "Thanks." The closet was tidy, but fairly full. "I think I need to lose some weight," he joked, "I can barely fit in here any more."

"You're a grown up."

"Scary, isn't it?" He gave a mock shudder. "Do you want… is there anything I can do?"

"I want Blinky." Her voice was almost inaudible.

"Okay," he glanced around the room, looking for him. "Where is he?"

Ally's crying redoubled. "I forgot him, he's still at Daddy's apartment!"

"It's okay…"

"It's not!" she screamed. "It's not okay. He's all alone, he needs me!" She flung herself at Jason and wrapped her arms around him, sobbing louder still.

"It's alright," Jason whispered, hugging her tightly, forcing back his own tears, breathing slowly and steadily. "He'll be okay until you can get back to him." Her crying slowed a little, becoming quieter. "We're gonna be okay," he promised her, though he wasn't sure he really believed that himself.

After a few minutes, Ally managed to stop crying and catch her breath long enough to ask, "How could they not tell us?"

"I don't know. It's not right."

"We should've been told," she spat, her anguish suddenly replaced by fury. "We should've been with her."

Eventually they stepped out of the closet, Ally went to wash her face, and they went downstairs together. Of the fifty or so people still there by the time they arrived downstairs, Ally knew maybe five of them. Of all the condolences and words of pity and comfort that were uttered, she heard only a few, none of them worth remembering the next day.

Ally's mother had boxed up all of her things while she'd been in Boston. Her father had taken a couple of weeks off work, thinking Ally might want to stay in Chicago for a few more days to be with her friends, but Ally didn't want to stay in her mother's house any longer than she had to. Two days after the funeral, they flew back to Boston, along with Jason, who was going to spend the summer interning at the same place their father worked, before going back to college in New York.

Neither of them spoke much to their father on the way back. Ally sat by the window reading, occasionally stopping to exchange hushed whispers with Jason, who sat beside her. When their father spoke to them, they responded shortly, not looking at him, both still furious with him for not saying anything. Before they'd got on the plane, Jason had pulled their father aside and explained that the only reason he was going with them to Boston was for Ally's sake.

When they arrived, Ally rushed into her bedroom, leapt onto the bed and seized Blinky, hugging him so tightly he was crushed to the size of a gerbil until in her arms. He stayed with her all of that day, and she slept with him beside her on the pillow that night.

When she awoke in the morning, there was a photograph frame sitting on the small table beside her bed. Her mother beamed at her from the photograph. Ally went to her suitcase, found Muffin, and propped him up on the table, blocking out the photograph, then brought Blinky with her to get her breakfast.

* * *

**_2005_**

The drive home had taken much longer than usual. Given her state, Cameron had forced herself to drive much more slowly than usual, resulting in quite a lot of angry beeping from other drivers, but she'd ignored them the whole way. On a day like this, she couldn't have brought herself to care if she'd made the entirety of New Jersey late for audiences with Popes and Presidents.

The moment she crossed the threshold, all energy seemed to evaporate. She made it to the couch just in time to collapse on it, and struggled to reach for the phone. Jabbing at the first speed-dial button, she listened to the phone ringing on the other end until an answering machine took over. "Hi, this is Jason. If I'm not answering here, I'm either in a client meeting, or in court, or depending on recent events, maybe in jail for contempt again. If you can't get a hold of me at options _a _or _b_, leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I get bailed out."

Cameron smiled lazily at the message. After the Patriot Act had been introduced, Jason had branched into cases of civil rights and discrimination, where he had predicted a lot of work. His methods and attitude had done little to endear him to most of the judges in Washington, where he did most of his work, and had left him absolutely hated by others, but he never let up, and had forged an impressive reputation for himself.

Not in the mood to talk to a machine, she hung up and forced herself up from the couch, moving into the bedroom and yanking the curtains shut to block out the sunlight. Knowing she wouldn't be able to make herself sleep for longer than an hour or so, she lay atop the covers on the bed, not bothering to undress.

Before drifting off, she glanced at the two items sitting on the small table on the other side of the bed. The first was a framed photograph; the last picture taken of her with her mother. The second; Blinky, quite careworn at this point, his black eyes staring solemnly at her, as if beseeching her to pour her heart out.

Rubbing her face into her pillow to banish the return of unwelcome tears, Cameron plucked the photograph from the table and stuffed it under the bed, out of sight, then pulled the ancient stuffed bunny towards her and held him tightly; curling up as she breathed in slowly, and was fast asleep by the time she'd exhaled.

**The End**


End file.
